


Nobody (makes coffee) Like You

by authorinprogress97



Series: Let's Start Over (or not) [1]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Jihoon is Pining, Light Angst, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Post-Break Up, Soonyoung is A Patient Roommate, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-20 14:59:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8253275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authorinprogress97/pseuds/authorinprogress97
Summary: Based off the prompt – “listen i know i can’t just show up at your apartment at six in the morning but i need coffee and no one makes it like you do”
Jihoon doesn’t know if it’s love, but it’s something. He’s never been very good at letting go anyway.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I found a bunch of post-breakup AU prompts on tumblr and I was like _hey, I should totally write those!_ and now my friends think I'm utter trash. Also, I may or may not have slipped in a movie reference into the conversation with Soonyoung and Jihoon (as well as a personal reference to me lololol).
> 
> The odds of me continuing this series is relatively high. Look out for it -winky face-

Jihoon frowns down at his mug. Across the room, Soonyoung lets out a loud sigh.

“What _now_?” the taller asks irately. Jihoon knows his best friend has been coming home late because of dance practice for the past couple days. He deserves every bit of irritation Soonyoung is sending him. Really, he does. But…

“It’s not right,” Jihoon mutters, glaring at the brown liquid in his coffee. “I’m sorry, but – it tastes like ground dirt.”

Soonyoung makes a vague strangling motion in Jihoon's direction. “You little shit,” he hisses. The glare is only made worse by the dark bags under his eyes. Jihoon feels _so sorry_ Soonyoung has to put up with him.

“I’m sorry.”

“Of course it does,” Soonyoung explodes. “The beans were ground this morning, you _fucktard_. And they’re blacker than your soul. Of _course_ it tastes like liquid regret.”

Jihoon waits a beat, then says, “Feel better?”

The dance major pauses, then nods curtly. “Much. Thanks.” Soonyoung lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry, Jihoonie. I’m not cross with you.”

Jihoon knows a lie when he hears one. He’s quite good at spotting them, these days. He shrugs, swirling the coffee in his mug. “I don’t blame you,” he mumbles.

A hand rests in his light brown hair, but he doesn’t look up. “You’re so sad these days,” Soonyoung murmurs. “You’re like – like a drowned campfire. All the fire has gone out of you.”

“I’m sorry,” Jihoon repeats. He’s starting to sound like a broken record.

“Don’t – ” Soonyoung lets out another sigh. Jihoon thinks his friend sounds older already. “Are you up for going out after class today?” he asks softly.

Jihoon shakes his head, not even bothering to think about it. He doesn’t feel up to it, but he doesn’t want Soonyoung to feel bad. “Schoolwork,” he lies. “Due in three days. I need to…” He makes a vague gesture. “You know.”

“Yeah…” Soonyoung says. He probably _does_ know and he doesn’t approve. “Don’t stay up too late, okay?”

Jihoon hums, waiting until Soonyoung leaves the apartment before he stands up and goes to the sink. He upends the mug, watching the dark brown liquid swirl into the drain. _Sorry, Soonyoung, but it’s just not good enough_.

 

 

Jihoon thinks it was a little like a forest fire.

It started with a spark and turned into an uncontrollably raging inferno. He thinks they went too fast – Soonyoung thinks they didn’t go fast enough. All he knows is that they burned out.

He misses Seungcheol.

He’d never say it out loud, but he doesn’t have to. Everyone can see it on his face – just how _miserable_ he is.

“Is it love?” he’d asked Seokmin one day, while the younger had been checking up on him. It was probably a couple days (or a week… or five; he’s lost count) after he and Seungcheol had… stopped seeing each other.

The younger, usually so full of happiness, smiles grimly. “I wish I knew, hyung,” he said slowly. “I think you’re the only one who can answer that.”

Jihoon has spent weeks trying to figure out where it went wrong. He goes over every moment, the ache in his heart a constant reminder of just how badly he fucked up.

There are a lot of things he remembers, but the thing that _sticks_ is the way Seungcheol made coffee.

They had only been dating a year when they moved in together. It was a shitty apartment complex six and a half minutes away from their university; the hot water only worked in summer, the air-conditioning only worked in winter and the elevator went to their floor three days in a month. The apartment – 5E – had been cramped and possibly haunted.

It had been home.

Every morning, like clockwork, Jihoon would roll out of bed to the scent of coffee and warm milk. He’d trudge to the small kitchen and find Seungcheol waiting for the coffee to drip.

There was nothing particularly _different_ about the way his boyfriend had made the coffee. He put it in the coffee machine, warmed the milk on the stove and placed three and a half sugars into Jihoon's huge coffee mug – just the way he liked it.

For two years, that was what he was used to. The scent, the warmth, the fond smile that he always got when Seungcheol found him peeking out of the blankets he had wrapped around himself.

One day, it just fell apart. The warmth disappeared, the fond smile disappeared into a thin press of lips, but the coffee never changed.

That’s why Jihoon is awake at five in the morning, needing coffee and knowing only one person can make it the way he needs it. He’s been having a shit ~~life~~ eight months and he’s _done_. He doesn’t have to put up with this.

By the time he’s dressed and ready to go, it’s five-thirty – just enough time to make the twenty-eight-minute trip to ~~their~~ Seungcheol's apartment. Unless ~~his boyfriend’s~~ the Daegu native’s schedule has changed, he should be up by now.

 

 

The door opens, revealing Seungcheol in his sleep-ruffled state. Before Jihoon can get a word in, the door is slammed in his face.

In hindsight, he deserved that.

He stares at the chipped lettering painted on the door. Huh, the _E_ is a little crooked. He never noticed that before (mostly because he spent more time inside the apartment than out).

The door creaks open again before it’s gone from view, Seungcheol completely filling his vision.

“Jihoon…?” he says cautiously, doing a quick once-over that is altogether familiar and invasive.

“Seungcheol,” Jihoon replies stiffly (not that he’s entitled to that). “Hello.”

“Hello…” The elder pauses, glancing away briefly. “It’s… six. In the morning.”

“Yes.”

“Jihoon, you can’t just show up here – ”

“I need coffee,” Jihoon blurts, running his fingers through his hair. “And not just regular coffee. _Your_ coffee. No one – no one makes it like you do.” The laugh that escapes Jihoon's lips is kinda hysterical.

The shock on Seungcheol's face is palpable. Has he always been that pale? His dark circles are darker than he remembers. A sigh leaves Seungcheol's lips and he turns away. Something in Jihoon's chest plunges into the depths of hell; he feels the full force of his fuck-up now. Seungcheol is going to slam the door in his face and tell him he never wants to see him again. It’ll be all his worst nightmares coming to life.

“Come in and close the door. You’re letting the cold in.”

Jihoon takes it back. He takes it _all_ back. It’s like seeing the sun after days of rain; like sitting on top of a fire-warmed floor after a day outside in the snow. He can feel the cold dissipating, the burden on his shoulders lifting.

It’s like coming home.

The scent of coffee is curiously absent, but it quickly fills the small apartment as Seungcheol starts brewing a pot. Jihoon gingerly takes a seat at the dining table, feeling like a complete stranger even though he knows every hidden corner of the apartment.

He watches his ex-boyfriend as he works on the coffee. Jihoon had expected yelling or a punch that would make his ears ring. Not – not this. The quiet is suffocating. His mind is too loud.

“How do you do it?” Jihoon sighs, resting his chin on the counter as Seungcheol bustles about.

The elder stills, turning slightly. Jihoon watches nervously as Seungcheol bites his lip, the mug in his hands thunking onto the counter.

“What are you doing here?” The sigh is deep and heavy, holding back a tsunami of emotions. “Jihoon… we – we’re not friends, are we?”

No, they’re not. They never were. They had met and there had been this _connection_ , but Jihoon knew they could never be friends. He just hadn’t thought they couldn’t be a couple.

“No, I guess not,” Jihoon mutters. Something in his stomach collapses, like a house of cards, only the cards feel like bricks against the walls of his body.

“Then why are you here?” Seungcheol turns around to face him; he thinks it’s the first time in eight months that Seungcheol has looked at him. “And don’t just say it’s for a bullshit reason like coffee.”

Jihoon licks his lips. His palms are sweaty, so he wipes them on his thighs. “It’s true,” Jihoon murmurs, pressing his fingertips to his lips. “Look, I… I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Break up.”

The look in Seungcheol's eyes are unreadable. “I’m starting to think you didn’t know how to date, either.”

The breath rushes out of his lungs. Jihoon's known for his blunt, cutting words. He hadn’t realized Seungcheol had learnt from him.

“What – ” His voice cracks, so he clears his throat and tries again. “What did I do wrong?”

“I don’t know how to explain this to you.” Seungcheol turns his back to him again. “I don’t know if you’ll listen. Just… drink your coffee and never come back.”

Jihoon thinks he should be eloquent. He’s studied literature – has had hundreds of readings that talk about heartbreak and breathlessness and moving on. He knows how to analyse that… but he doesn’t know how to analyse himself. He’s never been good with his feelings (and it brings tears to his eyes when he remembers Seungcheol teasing him about his artist’s disposition).

“Please don’t.” Jihoon's voice is surprisingly soft, but he can’t go any louder. His ribs feel like meringue, crumbling in on itself. “Hyung, I… please don’t say that to me.”

“I don’t know what you want from me!” The angry exclamation is punctuated by Seungcheol's fist hitting the hard surface of the counter. “I _never_ know what you want from me. You don’t talk to me, Jihoon. You just hide in your corner and expect me to know everything.”

“I’m sorry.”

The breathless utterance has Seungcheol stopping before he can continue his rant. “W-what?” it never occurred to Jihoon that he never apologized. For anything.

He intertwines his fingers, squeezing tight. “I’m _sorry_ , for not being good enough.” It hurts to admit it, but he doesn’t want to lie to himself anymore. “I’m so sorry. You deserve better than me.”

All the fight rushes out of Seungcheol in an exhale. There’s the faintest hint of fondness in his eyes. “If you missed me,” he sighs, “you could’ve just said so.”

“I don’t know how.” The words rush out of him, the same way chords run away from him when he’s in the mood. “I don’t know _anything_ when it comes to you. I – I wanted to be good to you and I managed to fuck everything up. I’m sorry. I just…” The epiphany slams into him, robbing him of all rational thought.

Seungcheol steps closer, fingers twisting in a rag he picked up. “Just what?” he whispers.

Jihoon's lips feel numb. His head is light; like he’s drank his soju too fast.

“Jihoon?”

“I love you.”

“Oh, _Jihoon_.” The shock on Seungcheol's face is palpable. “You – you can’t do this to me, damn it. I was fine, I was ready to move on – ”

“I love you.” He repeats it again, stronger – wants to get used to the word.

“It’s not a cure-all. It doesn’t fix what’s broken.”

Jihoon stands suddenly. The chair behind him clatters, but he doesn’t pay it any attention. Seungcheol looks so fragile as the shorter male rounds the counter until they’re facing each other, no barrier between them.

“Let me try to fix this,” Jihoon breathes, fists clenched so he doesn’t reach out for Seungcheol while he’s still processing. “Give me another chance, please. I love you.”

Seungcheol breaks their gaze first, bottom lip clamped between his teeth. “Oh, Jihoon…”

Jihoon knows that sigh. It’s not a good sigh – those only happen when Jihoon has does something endearing. It’s the sigh Seungcheol had heaved the night he said _I think we should break up_.

Jihoon mouth feels dry as he says, “Oh.”

“No, no, it’s not like that,” the elder says hurriedly, clasping Jihoon's shoulders. “I – this is all too much.” Jihoon tries not to panic; fails. “It’s – fuck, Jihoon, it’s six in the morning. My brain doesn’t start working until it’s nine.”

“Are we talking about a.m. or p.m.?” Jihoon mutters breathlessly, trying not to swoon. “I – you’re right. I should leave. I’m sorry.”

He feels like an idiot. For the first time in his life, Jihoon bares his soul and gets… what is this even? A calm and logical rejection?

Seungkwan would call this _karma_ and label him a drama queen.

Seungcheol's hand wraps around his bicep. It’s not a strong grip, but Jihoon is immobile anyway. “Don’t leave,” Seungcheol says in a quiet voice. “Stay. Drink your coffee, at least.”

Jihoon keeps quiet as he finishes the hot coffee in record time. It’s not too sweet, not too milky. It doesn’t taste like ground dirt or liquid regret. If anything, it tastes like coming home.

All of it – he misses it. Sitting in the kitchen he and Seungcheol had picked out, drinking coffee he hadn’t had in eight months, he feels despair creeping up his spine. He wants to stay, but he doesn’t know how to ask.

When Seungcheol reaches for Jihoon's empty mug, Jihoon's hand wraps around Seungcheol's wrist before his brain can catch up. “I miss you,” he whispers, gaze fixed on the strip of collarbone peeking out of the elder’s shirt. “That’s why I – I can’t drink any other coffee. I only want yours. I only want you.”

Seungcheol's mouth opens and closes. The silence between them is tense. “I… don’t hate you,” Seungcheol says slowly. “I’m just not sure if…” Seungcheol takes in a deep breath. “I’ve been waiting years to hear you say I love you. But I don’t know if I can say them back.”

Jihoon bites his lip so the sob that threatens to escape remains stuck in his throat. _This is it, there’s no going back. I’ve fucked up beyond reasoning_.

“But,” Seungcheol continues softly, “I wouldn’t mind trying _us_ again. Only if we start slow.”

Jihoon's heart stops before starting again in triple time. He knows second chances are hard to get – even harder with Seungcheol, who doesn’t really believe people can change. But Jihoon will, so long as he can hear those three words come out of Seungcheol's perfect lips.


End file.
